


Star Roving (In A Flash of Time)

by eternalheatstroke



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Racing in space - whoo!, Shiro is so in love & it's gross, Slight Authority Kink, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 03:11:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16109567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalheatstroke/pseuds/eternalheatstroke
Summary: Keith shoots by the window again, knocking Shiro out of his musing. “Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep at the helm, Captain.” He drags out the title, knowing it sets a fire in Shiro that he’ll pay for later.Keith’s nearly right, Shiro could use the nap, but instead he chides, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Kogane.”





	Star Roving (In A Flash of Time)

**Author's Note:**

> I was daydreaming about sheith traveling the universe together post-series, and then Star Roving by Slowdive came on and the rest is history. (I should be writing my AUs, oops.)
> 
> Big love to Liz for all her edits and validation!!! Ily... bitch.....

Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose, willing his eyes to stay open. He’d patrolled this quadrant earlier today, but according to the Coalition it could use “another look.” Iverson’s words. In the years since the war against the Galra, the universe has become a much smaller place, fewer spots for rogue holdouts of the new Galactic Coalition to hide. This patch of green and blue swirling nebula is supposedly one of them, though Shiro is fairly certain the coast is clear. He brings the pod to a stop at the edge, where the bright color gives way to dark space. 

Clicking open the comms, he fights back a yawn. “I think we should call it a day, Keith.” Only a crackle of static responds, and Shiro frowns, scanning the space around him for Keith’s pod. “Keith, do you copy?” Last he’d seen, he was doing a final loop of the area. An itch of worry crawls up his spine and he mentally flips through several worst-case scenarios.

Before Shiro can get too worked up and start a search, Keith rockets past his view screen in his own pod, a little too close for typical safety precautions, and dives back into a green strand of the nebula. “Tired, old-timer?” Keith’s gravelly voice finally breaks through the connection, a smug lilt to it.

Forcing a smile down, Shiro scratches his chin instead, which reminds him he needs to shave and probably shower. The two of them have been out all day — and the day before that and the day before that. Exhaustion is an understatement. Shiro is beginning to believe that the Garrison doesn’t want to admit the Coalition has done its job. He understands their uncertainty. Peace is hard to accept after the trials the war put him and the paladins through daily, but five years out the most military action Shiro has faced has been subduing the leftover Galra factions in rare encounters. Smaller and less equipped than Sendak or Haggar ever were, they haven’t been much of a challenge. Keith has complained to him enough times about the monotony of their new mission, and sometimes Shiro has to admit he agrees.

Keith shoots by the window again, knocking Shiro out of his musing. “Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep at the helm,  _ Captain. _ ” He drags out the title, knowing it sets a fire in Shiro that he’ll pay for later.

Keith’s nearly right, Shiro could use the nap, but instead he chides, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Kogane.” 

Keith chuckles lowly to himself in response before pulling up alongside Shiro’s pod. “Why don’t we make things interesting. If I beat you back to the ship, I get you all to myself tonight.”

Shiro barks an exasperated laugh, but decides to go along. “But you always get me to yourself at night. Not very original.”

“No, I mean  _ all  _ night. Starting as soon as we’re back in the hangar.” Keith’s been playing these games since their most recent deployment on the Atlas. The expedition is a part of the strategy to present a strong and united Coalition, fully supported by the Garrison and Earth. Keith gets tired of the routine, and Shiro can’t blame him. Besides breaking up the monotony, the satisfaction that Keith’s bets usually benefit Shiro even if he loses adds to the appeal.

“And what do I get if  _ I _ win?” Logically, Shiro knows he’ll have to debrief with the rest of the crew before he’s actually free for the night, these things can’t just be put off if the Coalition wants to maintain order and peace… But Keith is very convincing when he wants to be. 

“Mm, guess you’ll have to find out. If you can beat me.” 

Shiro can take some guesses at what Keith has in mind, and his earlier fatigue is replaced with a set determination. He quickly sends a message to the Atlas’s bridge to let the crew know they’re returning. 

Once he gets confirmation from Coran, he rests his hands loosely over the pod’s controls, waiting for Keith to give the signal starting their race. The pods they’re flying aren’t meant for more than basic patrol duties, let alone racing, but anticipation drums through Shiro, his competitive spirit flaring. On the other end of the comms, Keith inhales for a beat and then shouts, “Go!”

Shiro slams the thrusters forward on Keith’s mark and his pod shoots through the nebula ahead of him, his visibility momentarily obscured by the brightness of the gas he flies through. Keith’s pod is to the far right of Shiro, starting to slip ahead, and Shiro swoops into a spiral to cut him off.

It’s been awhile since Shiro used a ship like this, zig-zagging in and out of the swirls and strands of color surrounding him, and he feels that familiar sense of giddiness return as the G-forces press him into the pilot’s seat. A whoop echoes over the connection with Keith’s pod as he slices through a whirl of the gases just in front of Shiro. If he closes his eyes for a moment, Shiro feels years younger, transported back to what seems like another lifetime, the red dust of the desert billowing up in the wake of his hover bike as he races Keith along the cliffs. 

By now they’re only a short distance from the Atlas, positioned outside of the nebula and on standby in case they had needed assistance. Instead of keeping the course, Keith sticks to the bands of color they cut through and swerves back into the nebula. Shiro follows. They may have a bet, but he knows Keith is having just as much fun reminiscing, launching his pod into steep dives and punching through the colors of the space. 

Winded from the adrenaline rush, Keith pretends to sound impressed with Shiro’s handling. “Guess you’re not as rusty as I thought you were.” He pulls his pod up in front of Shiro, forcing him to stop abruptly to avoid an impact. Keith drops beneath him and out of sight before Shiro can complain. 

Keith laughs, and Shiro lets the offense go, unable to stop himself from smiling too. “It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Not used to these little things anymore.” 

Keith hums in agreement just as Shiro sees him rise back into view, now aiming out of the nebula and toward the Atlas. “Good thing I still got it!”

Sputtering, Shiro follows suit and urges his pod into movement again, straining to catch up to Keith, now in clear, dark space ahead of him.

They’re quiet in their competition after leaving the nebula, moving straight toward the ship’s hangar. The thrum of excitement and challenge crackles between them in the silence over the comms. Shiro grits his teeth in a grin as he gains slowly on Keith’s pod, focusing on the location of the Atlas to try and bypass Keith in a more efficient trajectory. 

Closer, Shiro starts to feel the familiar tug of the Atlas’s consciousness in his mind. These days he rarely even notices the way it melds to his thoughts, obeying his command at the mere idea if he’s not careful. It’s entirely different from the first time he piloted, when the presence appeared in his mind foreign and unwieldy. It’s the physical exertion of the command that Shiro still recognizes — and maybe more so as the year press on, though he would never voice it.  He notices that strain now as he urges the Atlas to change course, shifting to the left of Keith’s position and improving his own chances of beating Keith back. Shiro knows he’ll give him hell for it, but Keith always appreciates Shiro’s abilities in action. 

What can he say, the flexing is mutually beneficial no matter who wins this bet.

Shiro’s starting to notice the cadence of his breathing and feels sweat pooling at the back of his neck by the time he has the Atlas out of Keith’s path. It’s a drain of his energy for a silly game, but it’s also the most excitement Shiro’s had in ages. If he keeps the Atlas moving, only he’ll know the easiest path to the hangar. He hears Keith tisk over their link. “Playing dirty, Shiro.”

Smirking, Shiro removes a hand from the controls long enough to push his bangs out of his face and wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Guess I really want to know what this prize is.” He pauses and to his satisfaction, Keith remains silent. “Consider this a test of your skills.”

As soon as the words leave Shiro’s mouth he knows he’s done it — there’s no winning now. 

“Oh, you think this is a challenge? Don’t start acting like you’re the faster pilot here.” There’s no bite to Keith’s words, but Shiro knows he has a vendetta. Keith’s pod slows fractionally, allowing Shiro the semblance of winning as he overtakes him. Keith’s voice is all smug confidence, and Shiro knows better than to stop. He keeps the pod moving full speed towards the drifting Atlas and sees the glint of another ship as it leaves the hangar and flies toward him.

A roar reverberates through Shiro’s controls as the black lion races by him in a blur. Black may be one of the slower lions, but compared to the pods, it’s no contest. Shiro doesn’t see Black scoop up Keith, but he comes over the comms clearer, the crisp connection of the lion making his voice sound like he’s standing right next to Shiro. “Still think you can win?”

“Now who’s the one bending the rules?” Shiro holds his path, even as the lion streaks past him again, this time heading for the Atlas.

“Don’t worry, Captain, I’ll make losing worth your while.”

Shiro feels the breath knocked out of him at Keith’s words, and lets up a bit on the pod’s controls.  _ Oh,  _ he can deal with this loss. Taking a moment to compose himself before responding, Shiro clears his throat to regain his ability to speak coherently. “I think I can live with that.” He’s very conscious of his flight suit clinging to his back from sweat after moving the Atlas, but the discomfort is replaced by his vision of what Keith has in store for him.

Hearing the distant and muted clang of Black touching down in the hangar over the comms doubles Shiro’s focus, forcing the pod into overdrive again as he travels the last bit of distance to the hangar. He is victorious in an entirely different sense as he lands and withdraws the shields of the pod, opening it to the atmosphere of the Atlas.

Keith stands waiting for him, paladin armor and helmet on, arms crossed expectantly. Shiro regards him from his vantage point. The last few years of the war weren’t kind to either of them, but Keith is stunning in a way Shiro isn’t sure he can ever fully articulate, though he tries. His lithe form has filled out as he’s grown older, but never quite reached the muscle mass Shiro acquired. And he’s grateful for it. There’s been many a night where he’s revelled in the way he can wrap nearly an entire hand around Keith’s neck, marvelled at the way Keith is more leg than anything else. Neither of them are young anymore, aged beyond their years after tragedy and responsibility stole the rest of their youth. With Keith though, Shiro gets glimpses of it still.

They both know Shiro’s staring, and Keith removes his helmet so Shiro can see his smile. “Took you long enough.”

Shiro hops down from the pod and lands lightly, approaching Keith at a measured pace belying the heat that burns through him at just Keith’s voice. He’s always had this pull over Shiro, yet another inexplicable fact about him Shiro has learned to accept. “I thought I’d make you wait to rub loss in my face.” Shiro removes his own helmet and tries to maintain a sense of bravado, but falters when he’s close enough for Keith to tug him in, entwining their free hands.

Keith ropes him in until they’re mere centimeters apart, and Shiro can feel his breath hot against his neck. Their eyes lock and Shiro’s entire body feels charged with tension, a vibrant electricity buzzing between them. Shiro’s familiar with this feeling too, a routine just like it always has been after their battles — whether it be real or one of their own creation. 

This close, Shiro can see the way Keith’s fringe sticks to his face, sweat-matted in the most endearing way and pressed flat at the top from his helmet. He never did agree to cut it again, and it’s a small blessing for Shiro. Keith’s eyes catalog the same minute aspects of Shiro’s appearance, and he leans in barely brushing their lips together.

“You really need to shave.” Keith whispers like it’s seduction.

This is the rhythm they’ve fallen into. It’s a habit from days long past on a ship that no longer exists, but the tradition stands. Keith’s eyes reflect dark and greedy in Shiro’s as he moves to lock their lips together. The emotion tangible between them, both of them sharply conscious of where this will head once they start it.

Before they can, the familiar sound of a pressurized door hisses at the far end of the hangar. 

“Captain, you and the Black Paladin are needed on the bridge. The rest of the paladins are already on standby for the video feed.”

Shiro is slow to pull back, more interested in ignoring the officer in favor of kissing Keith, but Keith moves abruptly. He’s never been the one to display their relationship publicly, even if the entire universe is clued in on it these days.

Keith nods to the officer before throwing another knowing smile at Shiro over his shoulder as he walks out of the hangar. “Duty calls, Captain. Guess my reward will have to wait.”

Shiro watches Keith walk away before he follows. He has a slight hitch to his step from a particularly nasty fight against the Druids back when Haggar was still a threat and there had been no end to war in sight. Shiro’s learned from experience that if he were to ever ask if it hurts he’d get an earful from him, so instead he counts it as one of the many markers of Keith’s strength.

He’d forgotten the meeting they had arranged with the rest of the paladins several days ago during their last chat, one of their regular check-ins on the status of their individual missions scattered around the universe. Unfortunately for Shiro it ranks higher on his list of priorities than a typical debriefing. It’s harder to ask Allura to reschedule than Iverson. 

Shiro follows reluctantly down the corridor to the bridge, empty of most crew at this part of the ship’s day-night cycle. Keith is several yards ahead of him, following the officer who fetched them. Shiro knows the paladins have to maintain communication, make sure they’re all on the same page in case there is ever a need for Voltron again. These talks are vital to the prolonged peace of the universe — even if they usually devolve into Lance gushing about his newest video game fixation. Shiro clenches his fists in frustration. His race with Keith reminded him that neither of them have had a free moment in… awhile. Normally, he would look forward to speaking with the team, but he still feels pent up with what Keith started and then didn’t finish.

Shiro guesses that this development is just fine for Keith, making Shiro squirm. They’ve been busy in the past and unable to act on each other’s taunts and advances. Sparring only works so well as a substitute, and Shiro rarely has the space for that in his schedule these days. Piloting the Atlas and managing the crew is tiring in an entirely different way, more of a mental and emotional drain than physical. The fact stands: he could use a distraction right about now. 

Shiro will always maintain that he puts his duties as a captain above all else, but a small part of him desperately wants to do something for himself right now.  _ Needs  _ to. Keith’s taunting voice rings in the back of his head and he stops walking. He isn’t quite sure himself why this time is different, why he needs to feel the lines of Keith’s body under his own before he can go back to his responsibilities. He just acts on impulse. He won’t reschedule, but the paladins can wait.

“Keith.” He calls ahead, halting Keith and the officer in their tracks. Keith looks back with some concern, until he sees Shiro’s face. Concern changes to smug victory at what Shiro knows is desperation plastered across his face. “The team can wait a bit.”

Pinching his lips into a thin line, Keith eyes the officer standing next to him fidgeting with his uniform. “Let the paladins know we’ll be late.” The officer snaps to attention and walks swiftly away, no extraneous questions asked.

Keith unhooks his helmet from under an arm and strolls back toward Shiro, tracing over the fused joints of metal thoughtfully. “They won’t be happy with us.”

Shiro brings his right hand up to brush a stray strand of hair behind Keith’s ear. “We have unfinished business.”

Averting his eyes before Shiro can see the red creep up his face, Keith gives him a small shove and starts walking back the way they came. His voice echoes off the walls. “Then let’s wrap this up, hmm?”

As he traces his steps back toward the hangar, Shiro feels his heart try to hammer out of his chest. It wasn’t like he and Keith didn’t share the captain’s suite every night anyway, but it was a rarity now for them to do more than flop into bed at the end of a long day of diplomacy and peacemaking. Even peace wasn’t restful.

Keith turns them away from the path to the hangar, veering for the sleeping quarters. Shiro assumes that’s where they’re headed until Keith takes another turn, finally bringing them to the doors of one of the smaller observation decks, which whooshes open as they approach. 

Confused, Shiro snags Keith’s hand, halting him in the doorway as Shiro catches up. The room is dark and empty, the only source of light emanating from the soft blue glow of the stripes of light lining the floor and ceiling.

“Keith?” Shiro begins but swallows his words when Keith turns to him. Keith’s eyes are partially obscured by his hair, but Shiro can see the change there, the want. He lets Keith pull him further into the room until they’re flush with each other — or, as flush as they can be with their suits still on.

Trying to press closer, Keith leans up until his mouth is next to Shiro’s ear. “Do you trust me, Captain? We can’t exactly use the bridge so...”

Shiro shivers at Keith’s words, and opens his mouth in a silent moan as Keith nips his earlobe. He pulls Shiro further into the room, backing them up until Keith’s waist hits the front of the display console, powered down and dark. 

An intense heat floods Shiro’s body and settles in his gut as Keith leans up and in, smashing their lips together.  _ Finally. _ Keith kisses sloppily, and the wet slide of their mouths makes Shiro heady with need. He lost for this, after all. 

Keith presses his tongue against Shiro’s lips and he opens for him, deepening the kiss. His hands slide up Keith’s waist, feeling every ridge of armor and trying to find the right creases to remove them. He starts to pull back to make it easier to see, but Keith yanks him in, removing one of his hands from Shiro’s neck and sliding it behind him and across the console. It powers on slowly, the various buttons and controls illuminating in blinks of the same soft blue glow lining the walls. 

Shiro hums when he finds the catch on Keith’s breastplate and pulls it off with a click, letting it drop to the floor. The clatter disrupts the silence of the room, but he doesn’t stop, working down the gauntlets on Keith’s arms until all the armor above his waist is removed.

In this light, the planes of Keith’s face are starkly contrasted, the blue making him otherworldly in his beauty. Shiro breaks their kiss in favor of running his thumb over the faded scar on his cheek. It’s been years since the day he received it — since the day Shiro gave it to him — and they’ve had time to adjust to its history. Still, this small gesture stuck, an unspoken apology for hurts in the past that neither of them can voice.

Keith reaches up and cups the hand in his own, leaning into the motion. He only lets himself relax for a moment though, before pulling Shiro down until their lips brush. “Don’t go soft on me tonight, Takashi.”

Laughing quietly, Shiro presses their foreheads together. Their bodies radiate warmth in the otherwise cold room. “I would never.”

Keith makes a skeptical noise, as he reaches around to Shiro’s back, undoing his flight suit at the top and then tugging it over and off his shoulders. Shiro wiggles accordingly to help slide it off, and Keith flicks his eyes approvingly over his bare chest..

Returning the favor, Shiro helps strip Keith to his waist before they’re crashing into each other with force. Keith runs a hand up the side of Shiro’s face, catching on his stubble as it goes. He pulls hard on the side of Shiro’s hair the next second, dragging a full and unexpected moan out of him. 

Skin on skin, their bodies kindle warmth against one another, and Shiro is suddenly overheating. He’s already too hard inside his flight suit, still on below the waist, and he assumes the same is true for Keith. He breathes heavily, detaching their mouths only to trail his wetly along Keith’s jaw. It’s not as sharp as it used to be, mature and rugged, just like Keith himself. Shiro allows himself a moment to savor it, planting worshiping kisses along the entire line to Keith’s ear and then makes his way down Keith’s neck.

Keith’s hands still scrabble through Shiro’s hair, pulling and sending jolts of pleasure to his brain. Gasping, Shiro would be more inclined to tease and move slowly if he wasn’t enraptured in the intensity of moment. Reaching the crease of Keith’s neck and shoulder, Shiro pauses, licking a thick stripe along the line of muscle. Keith shudders underneath his ministrations. 

“Let’s get this off.” Shiro swipes a hand along the line of Keith’s hip, still encased in armor and pushes back. He immediately misses the contact, but is one-minded as he stoops to undo the rest of the paladin armor. Once Keith is undressed, they pull off the rest of Shiro’s suit, Keith taking care to brush against him tantalizingly as he pulls the fabric down.

Shiro’s breath hitches and he kicks the suit aside as he pulls Keith back to him. The line of their bodies, skin on skin, never fails to throw Shiro into a daze of overwhelming sensation. He basks in the feeling for a moment, both of them still sucking in rapid breaths.

“Shiro?”

Keith jolts him out of the moment, eyes searching his for an okay. Shiro gives him a breathy smile in answer. 

Without warning, Shiro hoists Keith up in his arms. Keith throws his out and wraps his legs around Shiro’s waist instinctively, a small sound of surprise escaping him. He recovers gracefully and swoops back in to lick into Shiro’s mouth. He accepts hungrily, as his hands clench tighter around Keith’s thighs, pulling him close and grinding down.

They break apart at the thrill of friction, choking on moans. Keith manages a lopsided grin and regards Shiro with hooded eyes. “There’s my captain.” Shiro’s hips stutter involuntarily at Keith’s praise and he bites back a groan — but Keith isn’t done.

“I want you to remind me, Shiro.” Keith pauses, biting his lip before continuing, “Remind me who’s in charge tonight.”

Shiro thinks he may have blacked out. His brain definitely short-circuits. Next he knows, he’s released Keith, setting him down on the glowing console and pressing him back. They grind against each other and Shiro vaguely registers what sounds like a growl coming from deep in his throat.

He plants his right hand next to Keith’s head to steady himself. “Fuck, Keith.”

Keith breath comes raggedly from beneath him, his hair splayed in a halo over the blue light of the controls. He smiles again. “C’mon, don’t stop.” 

He loops his arms around Shiro’s neck and pulls him down into a bruising kiss. Shiro’s other hand lands to bracket Keith’s head, and he dimly registers the click of a button under his fingers before the holographic map of whatever star system was last searched leaps into existence all around them. It casts the room in a brighter glow, revealing all the shadowy corners, and pinpricks of simulated stars shine all around them.

Shiro can’t help but stop to take it in, the desire and heat momentarily replaced with a humbling sense of awe. Both their eyes scan the hologram before Keith turns Shiro back to him with a gentle hand. “This makes you look unreal.”

Looking down at Keith, Shiro agrees. He’s nearly god-like here, flushed from their exertion but softened by the light. The stars resemble fireflies and the blue of the panel an ethereal river all around Keith. Shiro feels a surge of much more gentle emotion constrict his chest, and he reaches to stroke Keith’s face, but hesitates when he remembers what Keith wants from him. He was the loser today — this is Keith’s reward.

He leans in close enough to smell Keith’s sweat, the room’s technology whirring all around them. Breathing hard against Keith’s ear, Shiro whispers, “You haven’t seen unreal yet.”

Supported by the strength of his right arm, Shiro flips Keith onto his stomach in one smooth motion, hitting more buttons on the panels and shifting the star chart around them. He hears the punched-out moan of Keith’s breath as he runs his left hand down the line of Keith’s spine. 

When Shiro reaches the base of Keith’s back, he moves both hands to grip his ass, kneading it between his fingers. “You look so beautiful like this.” Only Keith’s labored sighs respond to him, so Shiro crouches down, spreading Keith open and licking into him without warning.

Keith’s entire body goes rigid in shock and another moan is forced from him. “Shiro!”

Dipping his tongue just past Keith’s entrance repeatedly, Shiro grips his thighs tighter, anchoring him and keeping Keith’s hips from moving. Keith is magic like this, splayed out in front of him in a way only Shiro can bring about. He withdraws after a moment, pressing a kiss to Keith’s ass and following it with a sharp smack. 

“Oh god.” Keith’s hands scrabble for purchase on the edge of the console.

Shiro ghosts his breath across Keith’s hole and he shudders violently. “Is this what you wanted, baby?”

“I need more, Shiro.” Keith practically whines, and Shiro rumbles thoughtfully, running a soothing hand up Keith’s back. His actions belie his words.

“Beg.”

Keith falls silent, and Shiro stands up to lean over him, pressing his lips along the back of his shoulder. His stubble rubs across the smooth skin and raises goosebumps. He can wait. “Isn’t this what you asked for?” Shiro says lowly, and Keith turns his head sideways to face him.

The pleading is evident in his eyes, but he waits a beat longer before he backs it up with words. It takes a moment to find his senses. “Shiro, please.”

Shiro tries to school his face into passiveness, not breaking at Keith’s pleading. “Shiro — god, please, touch me.” Huffing his frustration, Keith let’s his face fall and press against the screen underneath him. Shiro watches him collect himself, smug at how easy it is to wear him down. Keith is all hard lines and angles from this perspective, and Shiro wants nothing more than to give Keith everything he wants — run his hands over every ridge and plane in reverence. 

Keith mumbles something under his breath and Shiro leans down close. “What was that?”

“C-captain. Please.”

“Please what?”

Searching for contact, Keith arches his back up, pressing into Shiro’s chest, and he gasps, breaking his facade. But Keith isn’t done, more confident now with contact. “Please, Captain. I want you to fuck me.”

Shiro’s hips stutter greedily, but don’t find the friction he’s looking for. “Oh, Keith.” Done playing games, he murmurs, “Do you have -“

“In my belt.” Keith pinches his brows together in frustration as Shiro moves away to dig through Keith’s discarded armor. Finding the small bottle, Shiro squeezes some of the gel onto his fingers and then drops it on the floor next to him. He kneels back down between Keith’s legs and Keith widens his stance.

Shiro rubs his left hand up Keith’s leg appreciatively and starts to work his other in circles, rubbing a finger against Keith’s hole and willing him to relax. Keith lets out a small but constricted moan as Shiro inserts his middle finger. The smooth of the metal slides easily in till the first knuckle and he stops to let Keith adjust. 

“Are you ready, baby?” Shiro resumes his position over Keith, holding himself up with his free hand as he begins to work Keith open. He doesn’t waste time adding a second and then a third. In minutes Keith is a mess beneath him. 

Fucking himself back onto Shiro’s fingers when he moves too slowly, Keith’s hands dig into the edge of the console and use it as leverage. Shiro gets lost in the rhythm, enraptured by the mix of pain and pleasure on Keith’s face. He scissors his fingers out a few more times for good measure before removing them, Keith whining at their disappearance.

Shiro shushes him, moving his clean hand down to Keith’s waist and slicking himself up with the other. Once he’s ready, he lines up and pushes in, just barely. He grits his teeth to stop a moan, and Keith tries to push back and swallow him. Shiro’s hands hold him firmly in place though, and being so close to what he wants rips a growl out of Keith.

“Shiro — Captain — I -“ Shiro releases his hips in order to curl his fingers into Keith’s long, dark hair and he yanks back roughly. Keith’s body arches beneath him and he whimpers, “Please.”

Only then does Shiro slide in completely, and he moans Keith’s name once he’s fully settled in the mind-numbing heat. He doesn’t waste any time picking up a breakneck pace, thrusting in and out as he tugs Keith’s hair. Keith chants a barely vocalized “yes yes yes” as their skin slaps together in a controlled beat.

Keith is forced up onto his tiptoes, leaning over the control panel as Shiro’s movement propels him forward. The hologram in the room spins at a dizzying angle as it reorients again, and Shiro releases his hold on Keith’s hair to bracket his body with his elbows. Sweat drips down his brow and he presses his face against the side of Keith’s equally slick neck, biting a kiss into the muscle. 

“Shiro, I’m close.” Keith grits out and bites down on his own hand to keep down another moan. Shiro mouths Keith’s neck and increases his already brutal pace. He wraps a hand around Keith waist and palms him for the first time. 

“Come for me, Keith.” 

Keith’s entire body goes rigid, clenching beautifully around Shiro and bringing him closer to his own climax. He fights the pressure in his groin as he jerks his hand up and down Keith’s length.

He grows quieter, and Shiro gives another tug before Keith is spilling over Shiro’s hand and the panel under him with a guttural groan. Shiro releases him to grip Keith’s hips again, driving into him ruthlessly before he orgasms. His vision grows cloudy in the aftershock and he sags onto Keith’s back, trying to force air back into his lungs. 

They both stay like that, fighting the shake of their legs for several seconds until Keith lets out a shaky laugh. “Oh my god.”

Pushing himself off of Keith, Shiro stands and manages not to wobble too much on his feet. He realizes belatedly that they’re now both sweaty messes and still have a video call with the paladins waiting for them. Not his most well-executed plan. They’ve already been gone long enough that the bridge has probably run out of stalling tactics.

He coaxes Keith up from where he lays across the controls, making a mental note to come back and clean them before an unsuspecting crew member has to use it. Powering down the hologram still shining around them, the room fades back into near darkness. Keith leans into his chest and Shiro rubs his arms comfortingly. “We need to get cleaned up.”

Keith nods and begins to pick up bits of his armor quietly while Shiro grabs his suit. They’re methodical, spent and not expending any more effort than necessary. Shiro is usually one to bask in the afterglow, but there’s definitely no time now. 

They manage to put the skin-tight under layers of their suits on and dash back to their room without meeting anyone — yet another part of their plan that wasn’t thought through, but it works out in their favor anyway. Shiro lets Keith rinse off first, and hops in after. By the time he’s out, Keith has snatched one of Shiro’s oversized sweaters and waits for him propped up on the bed.

“You’re swimming in that.”

Keith shrugs and dangles one of the sleeves off his hand. “But it’s comfy.”

Shiro rolls his eyes and pulls on sweats and an old Garrison shirt. It’s late based on the Atlas’s internal clock, and he’s not about to pull out his official uniform to chat with the people he lived in close quarters with for years. This may be an official meeting, but his friends won’t mind. 

They walk quickly to the bridge and the doors slide open to a cacophony of yelling and heated conversation. Shiro shares an amused look with Keith when they spot Coran already speaking with the team up on the screen. 

Hunk and Pidge seem to have renewed their age-old debate about modulation, while Allura and Lance are animatedly describing their wedding color palette to Coran.

Shiro walks up behind Coran and puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning into the camera view. “Sorry we’re late.”

Coran nearly jumps out of his seat and Shiro isn’t certain if he scared him, if Coran is just excited to see them, or both. “Wiznillian dingots! I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up!” The rest of the Paladins echo his sentiment in the background in varying degrees of sincerity and judgment in lieu of any other greetings. 

“When I got word you wouldn’t be joining us right away I assumed you’d be ‘blowing off some steam,’ as you humans say, so I went ahead and started without you.”

Lance chokes on the granola bar he’s chewing loudly next to his mic. “Gross! Thank god I don’t live down the hall from you anymore.”

Shiro has the decency to look sheepish, but Keith crosses his arms and looks unperturbed. “We were on patrol all day and had to shower. Didn’t want to sit around in our suits anymore.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “And we weren’t in our room anyway.”

That’s met with a chorus of groans from all of them. Shiro slides a hand down his face. 

Their shared discomfort at the turn of conversation thankfully means they move on quickly, jumping back into their other conversations — though Pidge eyes Shiro with a mischievous grin and he fights the urge to turn away from the screen in embarrassment. 

Everyone is well, and Shiro takes some comfort in the normalcy of their lives as they recount them. The stress of his command can be put aside in favor of happiness for the team. He finds Keith caught up in the moment too, even laughing at one of Lance’s bad jokes, and Shiro is struck by how incredibly lucky he is. He wraps his arm around Keith’s waist and pulls him close. Keith doesn’t protest and no one finds it out of the ordinary enough to comment anymore. 

This is where he belongs — by Keith’s side, with the comfort and knowledge that their friends are safe and so is the universe. If it means more monotonous patrols and trips around the galaxy to keep it that way, so be it. With Keith, it will always be an adventure.

Once Shiro and Keith both promise-cross-their-heart-pinky-swear that they’ll make it back to Earth in time for Lance and Allura’s wedding, they excuse themselves from the video call and make it back to their room. Fully, truly exhausted in what would now be early morning hours, they strip to their underwear and collapse into bed. Keith curls up with his head under Shiro’s chin, Shiro drawing lazy circles onto his back as they drift. 

“What would my prize have been?” 

Shiro slurs his words, half-awake. Keith shifts in his arms and asks, “What?”

“For winning.” Shiro pushes back to look at Keith with a grin. Rolling his eyes, Keith pulls him back into their hug with a groan. “Well?”

“You’ll have to win next time to find out.” 

Shiro closes his eyes as a small thrill runs through him. Fair enough. Holding Keith tighter, he lets himself give in to the satisfying pull of sleep, content with the knowledge that there will always be a next time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://eternal-heatstroke.tumblr.com) about how sheith is gonna be canon in s8 ;))))


End file.
